


The North Remembers

by Sandy_Cleegs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Escape, F/M, Healing, Post-Quiet Isle, Reunions, Warging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandy_Cleegs/pseuds/Sandy_Cleegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey to a legacy starts with a scrap of cloth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The girl awoke with a start, her breathing ragged and her eyes fighting to make out shapes in the dimly lit cabin. 

"No." She gasped to the darkness, and closed her eyes tightly, attempting to sleep, as the ocean waters rocked her gently. When sleep didn't come, she vaulted off the small cot and ran for the various viles of liquid on the table. Grasping one tightly in her palm she ran back to the cot, throwing herself upon it, and opening the tiny glass bottle. She gulped down the liquid, the taste bitter upon her tongue, and within moments she was fast asleep once more.

_Her paws moved swiftly, yet silently, through the soft snow. She could see the men's camp ahead, and smell the one of her pack. Her ears pricked at the sound of their voices and their boots trampling harshly and loudly upon the ground. Following the scent of her pack, she slowly picked her way through the forest around the tents, to the back of one she sought, clawing and ripping the fabric with her sharp fangs. The scent was stronger now, and urged her to throw back her head and howl for all the ones that were lost, though she could not. Shoving her head through the opening, she saw the girl of her pack, staring at her with her eyes like the ones of the men she had killed. The one of her pack was scared, the smell of her fear rolling off her into the air, but then she let out a greeting, her bark soft and light. The one of her pack rubbed against her muzzle, her scent invading her nose. She wanted to go inside and roll together on the floor, but the sound of the men made her ears prick once again, and she knew there was no time. She took the hand of her pack mate lightly in her jaw and pulled at her. The one of her pack grew frightened once more, though of what she was unsure. She searched the ground for the slip of cloth she had carried in her mouth, and placed it into her pack mate's hand. When she pulled at her again, she came easily, ripping the tent and following her quietly into the cold night._

 

* * *

 

 Sansa's legs pumped achingly through the snow, as her mind chided her that this may be a fool's errand. As much as her mind yelled, and her body screamed even louder, she knew that she could not make the same mistake twice. Petyr's men would start a search for her, of that much she was certain, but she hoped with all of herself that she would reach the man Nymeria promised before they found her. When she thought her legs might give out and her throat was dry and tight, Nymeria circled her, and nudged her forward, like she was telling her not much farther. She ran until her knees buckled and sent her to the snow, her lips blue and her eyelids heavy. Nymeria licked her face, and whined in her ear, gently pulling on her hand with her teeth.

"I can't, Nymeria." Sansa tried to whisper to the wolf's sad eyes, her teeth chattering. Nymeria would hear none of it, and circled around to nudge her backside.

When they came upon a shore, Sansa's tears fell on her icy cheeks, she had no hope to cross such an expanse, her body trembling as it were. When she saw a shape moving on top of the water, she knew the Stranger was coming for her, yet it turned out to be a mangy dog, picking his way across the water in the dim light of the early morning. Reaching the shore, the dog barked a greeting at Nymeria, and sniffed at her fur. When the dog turned to go back the way he came, Nymeria urged her forward with her nose, and followed closely on her heels. Sansa tried to catch up to the dog, and walk on the hidden sand beside him, but Nymeria bit her skirts, holding back her step, as the dog glanced at them, giving one sharp bark. She followed silently behind him after that, her weariness threatening to overtake her, as they cut forwards and then back, through the water. Once they finally reached the opposite shore, Sansa could no longer hold herself up, and fell upon the ground, the two beasts circling her. She felt their teeth grazing and pinching her arms, as they took them in their mouths and began to pull her body through the mud and snow. She struggled in and out of consciousness while they pulled her by her limbs, unsure of how far they had dragged her. When she was finally released, the edges of her mind faded, as she heard them pawing at wood, and whining above her. When she heard the door move, and a familiar voice above her, she smiled and lost out to exhaustion.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time the direwolf had shown itself to Sandor, he barked a laugh at the Old Gods. He was sure this was their version of justice for how horribly he had failed all the Starks, and urged it forward to finish him off, as he stood under the dark night. Instead, it had approached cautiously, and rubbed its muzzle at the hand hanging by his side, the old mutt of the Isle following close behind. 

"What's this now? Did you make a wolf friend, Dog?" He rasped to the dog while patting the wolf. "A dog could never save a wolf, best you know that now." He finished sadly, gulping down the fresh night air. The pair came to sit in front of him, barking and growling at him in a way he didn't understand, until the wolf bounded off into the night, leaving the dog staring at him with his head cocked.

The second time he encountered the wolf, it came upon him quietly as he worked late into the evening, rubbing its shoulder against his thigh wound, and letting out a growl into the night. He almost pissed himself at the sudden contact, the giant beast standing almost to his mid-chest. 

"Aye, one of yours left me to that." Sandor rasped, running his fingers through the course fur. "Come to think of it, mayhaps you are the lost one. You're big enough for it now. She left you, too." At this the wolf jumped to it's hind legs and placed a solid lick at Sandor's face, knocking back his cowl. "Just as good for it, you and me would'a been supping with the Stranger if she hadn't." He rasped, as the wolf went back to the ground and off into the night, stopping once to howl at the moon. 

Sandor laid upon his cot, sleep just out of his reach, when he heard paws scratching at his door. Grabbing a piece of meat from his half eaten tray, he hobbled to his door, his leg aching from the days work.

"Aye, I hear you, calm yourself now." Sandor rasped, shaking his head as he opened his door to the wolf. "You're a bold one, you're like to give the brothers a nice stain in their smallclothes, coming into the cloisters." He chuckled as the wolf padded right into his tight quarters. He handed the wolf the meat before going back to sit on the cot, and watched her swallow the morsel whole. Instead of sitting with him, she began rummaging through his things with her nose, pulling a small piece of cloth from under his meager belongings. "You plan on taking my only good memory from me?" Sandor rasped, realizing what she held. "Go on then. She was yours too, keep it safe now." He rasped, as the wolf began pawing to be let out. Once the wolf was gone, he sat heavily upon his cot, as his eyes began to prickle at the memory of a scrap of cloth. It had been stitched with such care, depicting a small bird perched on the shoulder of a snarling hound, gifted to him after the bread riots, and now lost to him forever. "Just as well." He mumbled to himself, a tear sliding down his face as he tried at sleep once more.


	3. Chapter 3

"Aye, I'm certain. The hair's false, a mummer's trick, but that's her." Sandor rasped, staring at the limp form laid out on the Elder Brother's cot. 

"And Dog brought her here, with a wolf?" The Elder Brother asked quietly, eyeing Sandor uncertainly.

"Her sister's direwolf." Sandor rasped, glancing quickly at the Elder Brother, before settling his eyes back on Sansa, staring at her intently as though she may disappear.

"A dog and a great northern direwolf placed the lady from your dying fevered dreams at your door. Are you a warg, Brother Sandor?" The Elder Brother asked, his eyes twinkling as he shook his head in disbelief. His face grew serious as he looked upon the girl, his brow knitting together. "The color of her lips concerned me, but they are slowly turning. The state of her dress and her disposition speak to a hasty flight. What's this?" The Elder Brother said, pulling at a piece of cloth tightly clenched in her fingers.

"Just a scrap. I'll see to it." Sandor rasped, holding out his palm while fighting to control the mad beating in his chest.

"Just a scrap, indeed." The Elder Brother said with a small smile, appraising the stitches as he placed the cloth in Sandor's outstretched hand. 

 

* * *

 

"T-thank you, My Lord." Sansa whispered through a hoarse voice, taking the hot mulled cider from the Elder Brother into her trembling hands.

"Please, My Lady, I am no lord, just a brother of the faith." The Elder Brother said, smiling warmly at her, as she took a sip of the steaming drink. "How do you fair, My Lady?" The Elder Brother asked, taking in the dark circles of her eyes and the reddened windburn of her cheeks.

"Much better, thank you, Brother." Sansa said demurely, as her shaking hands sloshed the drink inside her cup.

"May I ask how you came to find yourself upon the Quiet Isle?" The Elder Brother asked, taking the drink from her and placing it upon the table.

"The Quiet Isle. That's its name? I was unsure as to where I might be." Sansa said, as her mind chided her for being stupid enough to think that this could be one of the Seven Heavens. "My sister's direwolf brought me here, and a dog helped her pull me to the Hound's door." Sansa whispered, swallowing painfully as her throat seared.

"My Lady, the Hound is dead. At the Quiet Isle-" The Elder Brother started, before Sansa cut him off.

"No, I heard him, I heard his voice!" Sansa said sternly, as her lips began to tremble, and a sob burst through her mouth before she could hold it back. Always the lady, she attempted to hold herself upright, and turn her face impassive, yet she could not hold back the tear that slid down her cheek and onto her tattered gown.

"My Lady, Sandor Clegane is the one you heard, he is at peace here. Do not mourn for the Hound, he was an angry, hellish beast that was made through years of hate and rage. Rejoice that Brother Sandor was able to wrangle himself from the Hound's fearsome grasp." The Elder Brother said gently, his warm eyes meeting hers, as she stared dumbfounded at him.

"Forgive me, Brother, but the Hound saved me, before he came here, and would have continued to do so, yet I was too frightened to follow." Sansa said defiantly, holding the brother's eyes.

"Yes, Sandor would be able to be seen beneath the Hound, at times. The Hound frightened you away from the protection that Sandor offered. Always so at war within himself, but fear not, the fighting's passed, and Brother Sandor took the champion's purse, a peaceful mind." The Elder Brother said, smiling warmly at her, as she mulled over his words.

"I am not afraid. He wouldn't hurt me, he told me so himself, and he hates liars." Sansa said hautily, taking a sip from her drink before placing it back upon the table.

"Yes, and was this before or after he held a dagger to your throat?" The Elder Brother asked, not unkindly, as Sansa's rigid demeanor deflated in front of his eyes.

"He, he was frightened just as much as I, on that night. He was afraid of..." Sansa fought to find her words, as the brother looked upon her. She twined her fingers together in her lap nervously, searching her hands for the words. "He was afraid." She finished quietly, thinking back on the story the Hound told her of his scars.

"Yes, afraid of the wildfire." The Elder Brother said gently, as Sansa's head shot up and her eyes searched his. "He said it filled the sky with an evil green glint, and the air was acrid with smoke." He finished sadly, his mouth turning at the thought.

"It was worse than that, and I only glimpsed it from a tower window. I can still hear the screams of the burning men when I sleep." Sansa grimaced, as her lips trembled, and her mind recalled the desperate voices of the men, assaulting her through her window, carried in on rolling clouds of smoke. "I prayed for him that night, and many nights before and after." She whispered.

"An honest prayer from a devout woman, the Gods heard you and answered back, or he would be in a grave and not digging them." The Elder Brother said quietly, giving Sansa a small smile. 

"Can I speak with him, or do his vows prevent it?" Sansa asked cautiously, not wishing to offend the brother, or dishonor their order.

"His vows?" The Elder Brother asked, laughing gently. "My Lady, I'm afraid there are some parts of him that even we, at the Quiet Isle, cannot fix." He said, raising his hands in defeat.

"He s-spits on vows." Sansa mumbled, afraid the brother would find her crass.

"Yes, he has told me so many a time, while he is in sick and in health, in sleep and in wake. He has vowed to never vow." The Elder Brother laughed lightly, and Sansa smiled timidly at the jest. "But if memory serves, he vowed to protect you from harm. That's why you're here, isn't it?" He asked gently, as Sansa nodded her head guiltily. "Don't be ashamed of your intent, he wouldn't have uttered the words if he had not wanted you to take his offer. Brother Sandor is not a pious man, but he is an honest one." He said, as Sansa nodded meekly.

"I had no where else to go, and no one to go to. I didn't even know if I would find him alive or..." Sansa trailed off, pushing the thought away from her. "I trust only him." She said, chiding herself and hoping the brother would not take offense. 

"I think that is a wise choice, My Lady." The Elder Brother said gently, with a fatherly smile, as Sansa released the breath she had been holding and smiled back. "I think he would like to speak with you, as well. Though since this is a holy order, I would ask you do so here in my quarters, with my supervision." He said kindly, rising from his seat.

"Yes, of course, but he would never hurt me." Sansa said boldly, holding his eye.

"No, he wouldn't hurt you, he is quite fond of you, as I can tell you are of him, which is where my concern lies." The Elder Brother stated gently, as Sansa's eyes darted away and a blush settled on her cheeks, visible even through her windburns. 


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa smoothed her stained and ripped gown, hoping it didn't look nearly as bad as she thought it might. Running her fingers through her hair, her mind wandered to the Hound, and the unladylike dreams she had of him. She felt her face flush, recalling him in her marriage bed, his large form looming over her, making her body quiver beneath him. Her cheeks felt warm to the touch, but also rough, as though a woodworker had started his sanding but had not yet finished. She licked her lips nervously, her tongue running over the cracked skin, reminding her of his mouth and his kiss. The Elder Brother's door began to swing open, causing her heart to beat madly. Will he have forgotten about me, she wondered. He entered on the heels of the brother, dressed in a brown robe with a cowl. His gait was strained, as though he was fighting with his body, to make it move. It was not the slight limp that drew her eye, however, it was the steel grey of his eyes. They were not filled with anger, or hate, instead they held a hint of sadness to them. When he pulled down his veil, she saw his scars had not changed. Though when he pushed back his cowl, his hair was gone, shorn to his head. Sansa forced herself to keep her gaze steady, and not look away from the twisted flesh that had once been hidden. His scars ran deep into his hairline, and down his neck too. His ear was gone, and not even a stub remained.

"You look like you've just flown out of the seven hells, little bird." The Hound rasped, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and windburned cheeks, and sitting in the chair opposite her. Sansa restrained the urge to run her hands over her hair and straighten her dress. 

"I didn't fly. I ran." Sansa thought her voice sounded too small and too strained to her ears. The Hound barked a loud laugh, the burned side of his mouth tugging roughly at the rest.

"Ran through the seven hells with a dog and a wolf. There's worse company to keep." The Hound rubbed his hand over the burns of his face, eyeing her intently. "Why would a little bird stop here, there are still lions in these woods, and flayed men, and old men hiding behind an army of worthless gets, besides." He rasped, though not angrily, but sorrowfully. 

"I hadn't known where I would end up, in truth. Only that you would be there." Sansa said, as her eyes trailed down his face to her hands, clutched tightly together in her lap. She was sure he would laugh at her and mock her for being a stupid little bird. When he stayed silent, she chanced a quick peek at him under her lashes. His good eyebrow was furrowed, and his look unsure, almost as if he didn't believe her. 

"I'm a lame dog now, not fit protection for a lady." The Hound rasped solomnly, his voice pained, as he worked through her intent. Sansa's heart began to race at the thought of him turning her away. She had not even considered that he may not want to come to her aid. 

"You will not help me?" She asked quietly, dread settling itself in her core, as she fought to keep her chest from heaving wildly. 

"I didn't say that." The Hound rasped, not ungently, his words stilling the panic that had started to flutter within her. "I'm only good for dying now though, so you may be disappointed." 

Sansa raised her head to study him. He looked the same to her, his large form still made everything around them appear smaller. He seemed to be just as strong and sound of mind, now that he wasn't drunk. 

"I thought you hated liars?" Sansa almost gasped at her rudeness, as the words tumbled from her lips. She bit harshly at the inside of her cheek, lest any more untoward things come out her mouth.

"And how am I a liar? Did you not see me hobbling in here like a bloody cripple? I can barely stand in the mornings, much less jump to fight. Fly off to the fucking Knight of Flowers, little bird. Leave an old dog to die." The Hound rasped, yet his words contained no anger, only dejectedness. Sansa felt her eyes filling with hot tears as his defeated demeanor surrounded her. She was hurt, not by his words, but by the brokenness that had taken root deep within him.

"F-fu..., b-bugger the Knight of Flowers." Her voice shook at the crassness of her words, and she felt a small amount of shame for uttering them in the same room as a holy man. The shame receded when the Hound threw his head back in a barking laugh, and she allowed herself a small smile at her impropriety. 

"Do you pray to the gods with that mouth, little bird?" The Hound chuckled, his mirth still falling around them, and his sadness retreating. "I'll help you, as long as I'm here, however short that may be." He stared levelly at her, and she felt a flutter rising in her chest once more, though it was not fear or panic, but something she could not name.


	5. Chapter 5

The rain had come on suddenly, and continued for days. Sansa had watched the water surrounding the Quiet Isle creep up by the day, engulfing the shoreline and the stone steps. She feared if it didn't stop soon, it would surely overtake the cloisters and the small room the Elder Brother had given her. Standing by her little window, she saw three brothers in sodden brown robes rushing to the Elder Brother's quarters. Twisting her head to peer without, she saw them rush back out into the downfall, the Elder Brother among them. Her neck craned as they went as close to what remained of the shore as they dared, pointing out into the distance. The Elder Brother raised his hand to shield his eyes, looking at something she could not see. Her heart started to hammer when another man strode to join them, his hulking form towering over them. He spoke with the Elder Brother and held out a coiled rope. The Elder Brother began to help the Hound, as he wrapped it about his waist, before knotting it again and again to secure it. When they walked to a nearby tree and began to wrap the other end around the thick trunk, she grabbed for her cloak. The rain pelted harshly upon her face and her eyes squinted in the torrent. Her chest heaved as the Hound walked out into the swift current, and then began to swim rapidly, his limbs cutting harshly into the rushing waters. The Elder Brother looked upon her with surprise when she made it to his side, the wind pulling roughly at her wet cloak. 

"One of the lambs of our flock got swept into the storm." The Elder Brother yelled above the din of the rain, and pointed into the distance. Sansa cupped her hands over her eyes and searched the horizon, in the middle of the rushing waters she spied an animal caught in the limbs of an old tree where the rainwaters had lifted it. 

"Why is he going after it?" Sansa shrieked, her worry filled face whipping back to the Hound, watching him struggle to cut through the rough current. 

"Our means are meager, one lost lamb could make all the difference. Brother Sandor is the only one brave enough to face these odds." The Elder Brother said, leaning close to her ear. Sansa's cloak became heavy as it soaked in the cold raindrops that stung in her eyes and beat at her face. Time seemed to stop, as she stood upon the shore watching him, the ground sinking beneath her feet. "Look, he's made it!" The brother pointed excitedly, as the Hound gripped the tree, and rested against its limbs. For once he looked small, with the brown waters swirling about his chest in the great body of water. Gripping the tree with one arm, he grabbed the lamb about its middle and began disentangling it from the branches. The animal thrashed wildly, knocking against him and stopping Sansa's heart. She could hear the Elder Brother whispering in prayer beside her, and fear filled her chest when the Hound's head dipped below the water when he let go of the tree. Her blood rushed through her ears as she held her breath, and her eyes frantically searched the murky waters for him. Wind rushed through her lungs when he reemerged sputtering, holding the animal tightly to his shoulder. She could almost hear the slew of curses coming out of his mouth as he began fighting his way back to the shore. 

"Can't we help him?" Sansa cried to the brother as she stood helpless on the muddy bank watching him struggle to make it back.

"Brothers, pull the rope! Bring him in!" The Elder Brother bellowed over the rain. The men began to pull harshly on the rope, as the Hound fought against the waters that pushed him further downstream. Suddenly he started to curse, his profane words traveling over the noise of the storm. She saw him frantically twisting his free arm in the rope, struggling against the water. The lamb seemed to sense his distress and started thrashing wildly once more. 

"Pull faster, you bloody wretches!" She heard him bark to the men on the shore, the rope taut in their hands and their feet fighting for purchase in the mud. 

"He, he's not going to make it!" Sansa shrieked to the Elder Brother, panic etched on her face. 

"He is strong, he can hold on!" The Elder Brother yelled, rivulets of rain sliding down his face. He moved swiftly to take up the rope with the others, as Sansa stood in fear wringing her hands. Her powerlessness engulfed her much faster than the rain beating down on upon them. She felt as though she were back at the Sept of Baelor, voiceless and unable to do anything but take in the death before her. A sob broke from her and she shook not from a chill but from terror. You're not at the sept, her mind chided.

"I'm not voiceless." She whispered to herself, the rain wetting her tongue and running down her throat. "Sandor Clegane! Don't you dare let go!" She screamed into the air, causing several of the brothers to glance quickly at her. "Sandor! Hold tight! Come back to me!" She shrilled, slightly embarrassed at how desperate she sounded. She saw his head turning to her amid the dark water swirling around him. Even from the distance she could feel his eyes piercing through her, and she saw his legs begin to kick savagely behind him. "Sandor! Sandor! Sandor!" She screamed, until her voice was hoarse and her body trembled. His eyes never left her as he fought through the waters, and loud grunts of the brothers pierced the air. Her knees shook when he reached the shore, and placed the bleating animal gently on its feet. He collapsed before them, lying on his back in the mud, his drenched robes clinging tightly to him. Racing to his side, she felt tears beginning to well in her eyes, mixing with the rain.

"What were you thinking!" She shrilled, falling to his side and smacking him harshly upon the chest. He caught her hand and gripped it tightly to his heaving body. If she had not been so lost in her wroth, she would have wrenched herself away from his cold, clammy, and striped paw. 

"The Lannisters aren't the only ones who pay their debts." He rasped out, through gulping breaths, before closing his eyes. She would have thought him to have been asleep or passed out from exertion, if it weren't for the tightened squeeze on her hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: mention of animal abuse.

Sansa had avoided the Hound for a sennight after the ordeal on the riverbank. Her anger had subsided days ago, with the rain, yet something needled at her still. She felt embarrassed for screaming like a brazen woman, and not a lady, but that wasn't the bother, either. If she were honest, there was a part of her that felt empowered by doing such, though she would never admit it. She had replayed the whole debacle countless times in her mind, and her hand would tingle at the end, with the thought of him grasping it. Her cheeks would warm when she thought of the holy brothers seeing him holding her hand like that in the mud. She was a proper lady, how could he grab at her like she were some paid woman! As much as she tried to gather her anger and channel it towards him, it would not come. Instead she found herself wishing he would touch her hand again. Perhaps he would be warmer this time, and his fingers wouldn't be pruned. Maybe he would even bring her hand to his lips and plant a tender kiss upon it. She felt her cheeks flame at the thought of the Hound ghosting his lips across the back of her hand, his breath heating her skin when he whispered 'My Lady,' as his eyes bore into hers. She chided herself for thinking about such things. He wasn't a lord, or even a knight, but he was the only one in Westeros she dared trust. She would push the thought of him harshly from her, and settle on other matters. Yet her mind would wander back to him once again, and she would start the whole sequence anew.

The Elder Brother had seemed to take kindly to her, and would come by to check upon her. She always thanked him profusely for his generosity, but he never took the credit, instead he would tell her that the gods were generous and deserved her thanks, not him. Sansa thought he was vastly different from the septons in King's Landing. Where they would dress in finery, he donned a poorly patched robe. Where they looked down upon the unfortunate, he took them in, and showed them kindness. Where they were quick to tout the word of the gods, he was quick to humbly listen, nodding his head in encouragement. No, he wasn't like any holy man she had ever encountered, she thought. He had given her rough fabric and small spools of threads so she might sew a new dress. She had never worked with such shabby materials but she tried all the same, grateful for his compassion. Her new gown was itchy on her skin, and was difficult to embroider properly, yet she was diligent in her pursuit. Donning the cloth, she sought out the Elder Brother, hoping she might thank him once again, despite his objections. She walked swiftly to his meager quarters and knocked resolutely upon his door. The ground beneath her feet was still sodden and she held up the hem of her new dress, lest she drag it through the mud. Glancing around the cloisters, she knocked again, but he never answered her. Worrying at her lip, she considered going back to her room and calling on him later in the day, but a distant sound drew her attention. Her mind took in the noise, it was familiar to her ears, however, out of place in this holy order. The clacking of tourney swords grew louder as she weaved through the humble structures of the isle. Rounding towards the animal pens, she saw the Hound's broad back, his cowl pushed back and his robe caked with mud. Her belly fluttered watching his strong arm move furiously through the air, striking his odd looking tourney sword at his opponents. His grunts drifted through the air, and his feet seemed to drag on the wet ground. She recalled watching him fight against his horrible brother at the Hand's tourney, and how quickly he had moved, raising to parry every blow like the steps of a dance he had practiced a thousand thousand times. It was nothing like how he stood now, struggling to shift his legs and his lunges lethargic. Her hands shot to her mouth, holding in the gasp that threatened to fall from her lips, as his sparring partner's sword came hard across his upper thigh, causing him to drop to his knee with a frightening howl of pain. Now that his form no longer impeded her view, Sansa could see the Elder Brother placing a caring hand upon the Hound's shoulder, speaking quietly to him. In his other hand, he held the old splintered tourney sword that had brought the Hound down. The brother's eyes flicked over the Hound's head, meeting hers for the briefest moment, before settling back to the man in front of him. He crouched low to the ground, saying words she couldn't hear, withdrawing his hand from the Hound's shoulder and moving it to his thigh. She could see the Hound's head bobbing slightly as the brother spoke to him. Suddenly the brother was standing once more and extending his hand. The Hound took it and allowed the brother to help him back to his feet. He wobbled slightly and worked at his leg with his large hand. Sansa wondered about the obvious wound that was there, covered with layers of cloth but very apparent. She yearned to go to him, to ask him what had happened. Instead, she tore off for the safety of her small room. This was the source of his misery, she knew. He was not a prideful man, deprecating most often, but he did hold his personal prowess high. Her heart rested heavily in her chest as she leaned against the inside of her door. She felt the corners of her mouth pull down, his painfilled bark resounding in her ears. An errant tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it roughly with her palm. What is wrong with me, her mind chided, as another tear tumbled down her face. Sorrow had settled itself within her, and she was saddened for him. Not because he might not be able to protect her, but because she understood the melancholy that had taken root within him. She wanted to run back to him, and tell him that it didn't matter, that he would always possess much more skill than an army of stupid knights. A quiet knock on the door at her back shook her from her thoughts. She swiped quickly at her face, hoping her eyes were not red-rimmed and puffy. 

 

* * *

 

Sandor sat heavily upon his cot, the ache of his body was sweet, despite the pain radiating from his thigh. It had felt good to start training again, even if he had been continuously knocked to the ground. He had always been one for action, and sitting idly about was tedious for him. Luckily the Elder Brother had agreed that he had needed to begin working himself, and the old holy man had even shocked Sandor with his ability. As much as he was reveling in the feeling of his limbs, he couldn't stop his mind from mocking him. She'll watch you die for sure, dog, ran through his head. Images of him being struck down before her danced behind his eyes, taunting him. He rubbed his palm roughly over his burns, as though he had thought to erase the pictures with his hand.

When he had heard of Joffery's death, he had been annoyed, not because he felt sad for the little buggering shite, but because he had dedicated his life to keeping the bastard alive and those fools of the Kingsguard had ruined it. Never once had he doubted himself, as he did now. He knew the blonde arse would never meet the Stranger under his watch, though the times he deserved to were higher than Sandor's maester had taught him to count. Growing up with Gregor had given him one small advantage, he could tell Joffery was off from early on. Even as a small boy Joff would react queerly to any situation. Sandor had regretted the business with the cat, and blamed himself for not preventing it. He had known Joffery would be up to something, what with the way his eyes had glinted and narrowed. Sandor had a thirst for wine though, and Joff had been in his mother's care, besides. When Joffery had relayed the tale to Sandor, he skimmed over his father's rebuke, and focused on the animal's blood and screams. It had made Sandor's stomach clench to hear him speak on it at length, and when he had asked him if that's what it was like to kill a man, Sandor had to restrain himself from running his mailed fist into the prince's excited face. He had tried to keep Joff from trouble and had, at one point, misguidedly hoped that he would grow out of it. But he never did, and now Sandor's legacy was in the dirt, poisioned at his own celebration feast. Sandor's hollow laugh tumbled forth in the small room upon the Quiet Isle. He had given his best fighting days to that little twat that had never deserved it, and now, when he had someone that he wanted to fight for, he found himself all used up.


	7. Chapter 7

"He has suffered a grievous leg wound, as I'm sure you saw," the Elder Brother said gently.

"Yes, he had always been sure of foot before. Not even his, his brother, could withstand him," Sansa said quietly, and pursing her lips together.

"He will not know that we have spoken, if that's what you fear," the brother said, patting her hand and searching her face. 

"It's not fear, I, I suppose it's worry? Not for myself," Sansa whispered to the table before her, shifting slightly in her seat.

"You worry about his ability to come to your aid," he said softly, nodding his head.

"No, not that. Well, perhaps, but not as you may think," she said, lifting her blue eyes to meet his. "I worry for him, mostly. I know he will protect me. He has, he seemingly has, lost confidence in himself," she worked at her lip and wished to be back in her room, alone with her thoughts. 

"He has. You are right in that. But you needn't worry for him. His wound is healed up nicely, and his strength returns with each day. It is his pride that suffers now. He cannot be as he once was, that is true, but he can be different. And sometimes that is even better," the brother said, and gave her a kind smile. "The gods do not make mistakes. He died for a reason, and he is reborn for a reason. It is their will now, what he does with himself. But they also sent you to us, in his time of need, so I can only assume that you will be their instrument. You have a tender heart, I can tell even from the small amount of time we have become acquainted. He has never had that before, someone that cares for him, and not what he can do for them," he finished quietly. The very thought made Sansa's heart hurt all the more. She recalled the love of her mother, and of her father, and of her brothers and sister, and even the people of Winterfell. Never once had she doubted their love for her. To think of never having had it made her feel empty and hollow. 

"If I ever retake the North, he will always have a place at my hearth, and meat and mead at my table," she stated resolutely, meeting the brother's eye with a steady gaze. "When," she clipped a moment later. The brother nodded slightly at her, his weatherworn face giving her a small smile.

"I'm sure he would welcome those words from you, my lady," the brother whispered.

* * *

Sansa smiled to herself as she watched the Hound gently stroking the coat of his large black courser while whispering to it under his breath. The horse nickered and nudged his shoulder with its muzzle, which the Hound swatted away, but his movement lacked any sort of malice. "I know, boy, there's someone there," she heard him say a few heartbeats later when the horse looked right at her and knocked the Hound's shoulder once again, with more force. Sansa eyes grew wide at the revelation, and her breath caught in her chest. It wasn't that she thought that she was spying or being a sneak, but he had made no previous acknowledgement of her presence, so she had assumed that he hadn't known she was there. 

"Pardons, my lord," she said, with a perfunctory wince at the title that was sure to cause a vehement rebuke. Only a solitary grunt met her ears instead of the slew of hateful words that she had been expecting. He continued to run the brush down the mount's neck to breast without even a glance in her direction. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thinking perhaps she should just withdraw from the stable and retire to her room. The awkward silence was so great that she was certain he could hear her nervous swallow from the end of the stable. Steeling herself against her nerves, she forced herself to speak, "I thought you very brave to save the animal." His hand stilled at her words, yet another grunt was all the reply made. "I have a confession as well, I saw you training with the Elder Brother-"

"So you've come to dismiss me, is that it?" He barked over his shoulder with a snorting laugh. "Found out the truth of it? That I'm as good as dead when we meet your first foe," he gratingly spat. He stepped out of the stall, dropping the brush in the dirt, and advancing on her in quick, but painfully uneven strides. 

"No, my lord, I only meant-"

"You only meant that you don't trust me with your life, now that I'm a bloody cripple, like your brother?" He barked, his irritation coming off him in waves. Sansa walked briskly to meet him and brought her hand up swiftly to strike him for the callousness of his words, yet he was too quick and caught her by the wrist, suspending them in time. 

"I trust you with _my_ life, ser," she spat, intending the title to barb under his skin. "I just don't trust you with _your_ life," she said, her fierce eyes boring into him. Wrenching herself from his grasp, she turned on her heel and fled for the security of her room. 

* * *

Sandor flinched at her words, as though her small hand had made contact with his cheek and turned into a mailed fist. He watched her swiftly retreating form grow smaller and then turn out of view. His mind chided him to go after her, and he took a step forward, until he heard another part of himself scream, 'Bugger that!' Shame and embarrassment took hold when he thought of all the moments of him sprawled in the dirt she may have witnessed. Walking back to Stranger he kicked the dropped brush hard at the stable wall leaving a small dent in the wood. He huffed loudly to himself and picked the brush from the ground. A small crack had formed on the back of it and tiny splinters stuck out like bristles. "Bloody hell," he swore to himself, tossing the brush onto a shelf. Stranger watched him and offered a whicker that he was sure was meant condescendingly. "No one asked you, fucking arse," he told the horse, lightly swatting it. When he walked from the stall the horse tried to follow, nipping at the cloth on his shoulder. Turning back, he pointed into the stall. The horse took a couple of steps backwards, harrumphing and tossing his head. "Calm yourself now. I'll come back once I've cleaned the muck out of the stable I've just shat in," he rasped, securing the gate.


End file.
